Hallucinations by Max A.

There's a chap who told a story In the case of G.H. Druce;'Twas a strange phantasmagory, Most perplexing and profuse.Now, the doctors so sarcastic, Who have suffered him with patience,Say he suffers from Fantastic Hallucinations.

There are lots of men amid us, Men with tongues of gold -- or brass --Who with oratory "kid" us While the spell-bound minutes pass.Do they think, those men bombastic, As they spout their perorations,That they suffer from Fantastic Hallucinations?

Here and there you'll find a Chappie With a beauteous, classic face,Who is always very happy When a Girl is near the place."She adores my Features Plastic" -- So run his meditations;He, too, has got Fantastic Halucinations.

'Mid the labour politicians There are many who believeThey're Society's physicians -- Panaceas up their sleeve;So they preach iconoclastic Doctrines unto all the nations,Which are merely most Fantastic Hallucinations.

Melbourne town has streets so dusty That they choke your breathing-spout:And its Councillors too fusty Never wipe the nuisance out.And that Tar and Sand make 'pastic To endure for generationsIs one of their Fantastic Hallucinations.

So, you see, the Caldwell fellow Isn't quite the only buttWhose brains are over-mellow, Who has jim-jams in his nut.It stretches like elastic, This long line of queer creations,Who are suffering from Fantastic Hallucinations.